Eye of the Tempest
by DarkPrincess128
Summary: Due to a series of unfortunate events, Phoenix is stuck at Edgeworth's apartment for some time during a thunderstorm. ...They'll find a way to pass the time. PxE, slash.


**Disclaimer: Nothing you recognize is mine, least of all the characters from Phoenix Wright.**

**Rating: M for a sex scene. Don't like, don't read.**

**A/N: This is my second lemon ever, my first for this fandom. Go easy on me?**

The sky was gray. The air was gray, too, Phoenix thought. The smell of the city was gray, and it was indicative of a storm. Most of the citizens were acting intelligently and staying at home with the doors locked and their cars tucked safely in their garages where they could not be damaged by the pounding rain that was inevitably soon to come.

But when did Phoenix Wright ever act like that? He was walking down a now nearly-empty street on the way to Edgeworth's fancy apartment complex. He figured that he could get to the apartment and back to his office before the storm started. The weather channel said it'd start at about five-forty-five, and it was only four-thirty then. And Phoenix had no intention of staying for longer than, what, 2 minutes – he only wanted a couple papers he knew the prosecutor had that were incredibly relevant to his case for which the trial was two days from then. He didn't plan on chatting or anything like that, despite the urge that might settle over him once he reached his destination. Because of this, he decided not to carry anything with him on the short walk to Edgeworth's apartment. What was the point?

As he expected, it took him very little time to reach the apartment complex. He walked through the glass double-doors of the extremely tall building and started to make his way to the elevator when, of course, the tall, authoritative-looking man behind the U-shaped concierge desk stopped him.

"May I help you?" he asked, though it was more of an irritated statement than a concerned question.

"A friend is expecting me in room 732," Phoenix said politely, suppressing an inward sigh at the words, "a friend_._"

"You must sign in first and fill out a short form," the man gestured vaguely to a clipboard with a fancy gold pen attached to the desk by a cord. "Unless you've been here before, and you're already in the system?"

Phoenix had gone to Edgeworth's apartment for work-related items a few times before then, but never before had this signing-in thing been established, so no, he wouldn't be in the system. The fact of the matter was that Phoenix did not exactly want to waste his time filling out paperwork to pick up a few papers from Edgeworth, an overall transaction that would take about thirty seconds.

He let the desk man know this. "I'm honestly going to be here for less than five minutes. Mr. Edgeworth can vouch for that."

The man lowered his eyebrows in what may have been a menacing glare, but as Phoenix worked with Edgeworth, he was quite immune to those by now. "Fill out the form and sign in, or we will be forced to escort you off the premises."

Trying to look unphased by this in order to not give the desk man the satisfaction of his annoyed facial expression, Phoenix half-snatched the _two-page form_ and pen from the concierge.

He sat down in one of the lobby chairs and gave the form a once over. _Name and address, race, sex, occupation, social security number, salary/year in US dollars, allergies, current medications, mother's and father's names, brief family medical history, insurance provider, have you ever been convicted of a felony, and if so, please explain,_ and more information he did not feel comfortable writing down.

Phoenix scribbled the information that was applicable to him, writing N/A for several lines, such as "driver's license number." What the hell did his salary have to do with anything security-related? Or his current medications? The only thing that would have made that form more intrusive was if they had asked for sexual orientation, he mused. Not that Phoenix would have, under any circumstances, written _that_ down.

Mainly because he hadn't really come to terms with it himself.

Finally scratching his signature and date sloppily on the last line of the form – which may have been more appropriately described as a packet – he returned to the desk where the pretentious concierge simply looked at Phoenix disapprovingly before taking the form back _as slow as molasses._ Phoenix promptly turned away to make his way to the elevators when he heard the same annoying voice say "Sir?"

When Phoenix turned around, he found the desk man, not even looking towards him, pointing with one gnarled finger at the sign-in sheet with the gold pen.

Giving up on patience, Phoenix basically stomped over to the desk to find even more stupid information he had to write down. _Name, time in, time out, resident visiting, reason for visiting_. Phoenix ran a hand through his spiky hair before even more quickly scribbling that information, filling in the lattermost criterion as "work."

He started to walk away when he heard a somewhat loud clacking sound followed by something light hitting his leg. When he turned around, he realized that he had been walking away with the fancy golden pen that was attached to the desk – and it had promptly become detached. The cord was now against his leg.

Not sure whether to laugh really hard or apologize, Phoenix stood there looking at the pen in his hand and trying not to smile. The concierge was _standing_ now – oooh – and held his hand out for the pen, which Phoenix put in his hand slowly. As soon as the man had a grip on it, he retracted his hand at lightning speed.

"Just go," he said angrily, and Phoenix turned around quickly, trying to stifle his laughter and coughing when that failed.

When he realized, though, that if that entire interaction had not happened, he'd have been home already, he scrambled more quickly to the elevator. He was going to be caught in the storm for sure if he ran into any more distractions.

But Phoenix had never really had the best of luck. When he reached the elevator, two women with luggage carts full of suitcases and shopping bags had just stepped inside.

"Sorry, dearie," one of them laughed. "Guess you'll just have to take the next one." And the door closed and they were off; the small screen at the top of the elevator told him that they were going up to the _23__rd__ floor_.

The other elevator was, of course, out of order.

Phoenix was not extremely upset or anything by this because the obvious alternative was to take the stairs. However, when he could find no sign of the stairs and no sign telling him where they were, he was forced to walk back to the snooty concierge and ask.

"Excuse me, sir. Where are your stairs?"

He didn't even look up from the desk. "Under construction."

Flabbergasted, Phoenix retorted, "Excuse me? How can stairs be under construction? They're _stairs_."

The concierge did then look at Phoenix, and only said tightly, "The stairs are under construction. We're sorry for any inconvenience."

So then Phoenix was forced to wait _four minutes_ for the elevator to come back down from the 23rd floor. He took this time to wonder how Edgeworth could manage not being able to take the stairs up to his room, due to his fear of elevators, anyway. And if he didn't want to get home before the storm so badly, he might have asked.

When he finally, _finally_ reached the seventh floor, he walked determinedly to Edgeworth's door and knocked politely. Thankfully, _something_ in that building was fast: Edgeworth came to the door in no time.

No friendly welcome, though. "Wright, I was expecting you fifteen minutes ago."

"Sorry. Your apartment complex is maddening," Phoenix grinned, not being able to help himself.

"Perhaps _you're_ the one who's maddening?" Edgeworth said, hopefully in jest, walking away briefly to get the envelope he needed. That was when a huge crack could be heard coming from the sky, and suddenly rocks were being thrown against the wall of the complex.

"Oh, no," Phoenix groaned. Because the crack from the sky would have been identified more commonly as "thunder" and the rocks hitting the wall of the complex were actually _hail_.

If Edgeworth heard his turmoil, he showed no sign of it. He walked back to where Phoenix stood in the threshold and handed him the envelope. "I'm sure everything's in order. Goodbye, Wright." He started to shut the door.

"Wait! Edgeworth!" Phoenix put his hand on the door before Edgeworth had the chance to fully close it. "You can't be serious."

"What?"

"You can't seriously have me walk home in _that_!" He gestured wildly to the window.

Edgeworth looked somewhat exasperated and rolled his eyes. "Wright, you can hail a cab, for God's sake."

"I didn't bring my wallet," Phoenix replied, rubbing his hand on the back of his head sheepishly.

Edgeworth gripped the doorknob imperceptibly tighter. "I'll give you cab fare, Wright. Why would you go anywhere without your wallet?"

The prospect of taking a cab back to his apartment comforted him for a split second before he realized that he'd still be out there for a while, getting pelted by hail pellets, and –

"Wait, Edgeworth," Phoenix thought suddenly. "The report."

"What about it?" Edgeworth asked, already removing several dollars from his wallet.

"It's going to get ruined if I stand out there waiting for a cab."

Edgeworth stopped his motions, thinking, and put the money back in his wallet. "Fine. You can stay here until it passes. But God, Wright – perhaps if you had gotten here on _time_, you'd already be _home_."

Phoenix stepped inside, shutting the door behind him. He couldn't help the grin that made its way across his face at being inside his friend's – and rival's – house again. He had only been to Edgeworth's apartment a scant number of times in the few years they had been working together, and no visit lasted longer than half an hour. Phoenix also marveled at the fact that no worry about Phoenix's health had been expressed by Edgeworth; the condition of the report was the point that drove home Phoenix's request. "It's not like I wanted to take as long as possible to get up here!"

"Perhaps you should have left earlier," Edgeworth suggested simply. There was hardly any irritation in his voice now.

"I left at four-thirty. What time is it now?"

Edgeworth glanced at the grandfather clock across his living room. "Five-twenty." The storm wasn't supposed to have started for more than twenty minutes! "It took you nearly an hour to get here from three blocks down the road?" Edgeworth had a scowl on his face that still managed to express curiosity.

"Well, the concierge from hell was assisting me in my ever-present dream of getting caught in a storm."

Edgeworth had been in the kitchen making tea, and he brought two cups to the table where Phoenix was sitting without asking whether Phoenix wanted one or not. Phoenix was rather flattered at this rare show of kindness from the other man, and Edgeworth took the seat across from him. "You can't possibly mean Bill."

"Tall, condescending, et cetera?"

Edgeworth shook his head slowly behind his cup. "Only you could _possibly _think poorly of someone so clearly a good person."

Phoenix snorted, sipping at his tea occasionally. Not that he really liked tea, but for Edgeworth, he would make an exception. "He made me fill out this incredibly personal form despite the fact that I was supposed to be here for about two minutes. Have you _seen_ that form? It's two pages. That's ridiculous. And when I was done with that – which took me forever – I started to walk away when he told me I still had to sign in," Phoenix debated here whether or not he should include the part about breaking the pen from the desk. He decided to leave it out. "And that has its own set of questions, too."

He expected Edgeworth to tell him he was whining too much, and it was perfectly within the building's rights to install a questionnaire for their visitors. But, surprising him, Edgeworth agreed with his complaints. "It's a little over-the-top, I must admit. They insist on the safety precautions those forms take."

Phoenix couldn't help the scowl that spread across his face and the sarcastic remark that left his lips. "Well, if they're so concerned about _safety_ precautions, perhaps they shouldn't put the _stairs_ under _construction_. How could the residents get out in the case of a fire?" Phoenix shook his head in disgust.

But when he looked over at Edgeworth, the prosecutor was looking at him from behind his cup with partly amused, partly puzzled eyes. "Wright, where did you hear that the stairs were under construction?"

"The Satanic concierge guy said they were."

Phoenix could see the twitches at the corner of Edgeworth's mouth that were bound to turn into a smile that Edgeworth was trying his best to hide behind his teacup. "How in the world could stairs go under construction?"

"That's exactly what I said!" Phoenix laughed, until he realized the implications of this revelation. "…So that Bill guy was totally screwing with me?"

"So it appears." Edgeworth took another sip of his tea, putting his cup down to fold his hands over the table as if at an important business meeting. "But it doesn't sound as if you were being very kind to him, so I'm inclined to say you deserved it, Wright."

Phoenix didn't fully pay attention to this comment, beginning to mutter, loud enough for Edgeworth to hear but too vague for it to be known whether he was speaking to himself or with the intention of Edgeworth as an audience. "And here I was, worried about how the hell you would get up to your floor without fainting, and that guy was just-"

Edgeworth looked quizzical; Phoenix could just _see_ a question in his eyes. "What?"

"You hear the stairs are broken, so to speak, and your first thought is whether or not I'm able to make it up to my room without fainting in the elevator?" He sounded a little awed.

Phoenix considered brushing the question off as simple thoughtfulness, but something in him willed him to say other words. Phoenix sighed, and said, "Well, yeah. I'm allowed to worry about you."

Edgeworth narrowed his eyes, the beginnings of a death glare. "I don't need to be pitied, Wright."

"Who said anything about pity?" Phoenix raised his hands in metaphorical defense. "I know you are a very capable person, Miles. I don't pity you. I'm concerned for your well-being." Phoenix looked out the window at the hail, which was getting stronger. "And apparently, you must care about mine at least a little."

Miles had his head turned away from the table. "You really haven't changed at all, have you," he muttered somewhat bitterly.

Phoenix looked at him curiously.

"You were the same way when we were children in elementary school," Miles explained, turning his head back to Phoenix in order to stare him in the eyes. There was something in those eyes Phoenix couldn't place. "Always concerned about Larry and me. Always worried about everyone around you, in fact."

Phoenix was smiling in reminiscence. Miles went on, "For a fourth grader, that's very strange to find in someone, such a caring personality. Even since then, I haven't met anyone with the same kindness."

Miles had his arms folded and he was staring at a wall behind Phoenix. Phoenix knew he had a look of tangible surprise on his face. "You mean you never found someone who was concerned about your health?"

"Not genuinely interested, no," he replied. "Of course there were people that 'cared' about my well-being, but Germany hadn't exactly been the highlight of my life." Miles was scowling to himself again. "I didn't have friends like you and Larry."

When Phoenix spoke, it was quiet, but he knew Miles would hear it. "I never stopped caring about you, you know."

Miles shook his head slowly, knowing exactly to what Phoenix was referring, glancing at him occasionally as he formed his sentence. "I've never forgiven you for that."

Phoenix smiled, but Miles still looked somber. He continued, "You couldn't just let me be after I moved. And when I came back. You were so persistent."

"But now, here we are."

Miles looked confused – or perhaps it was irritation; Phoenix couldn't quite tell.

"Yes, here you are in my apartment on a Tuesday night, when all I wanted to do was have a nice evening with tea and a good book." Yup, irritation. Phoenix was only minimally astonished that Edgeworth could change demeanors so quickly.

He decided to make a half-joking comment about this. "Oh, come on, Edgeworth. We were having such a nice conversation."

"Any conversation about my childhood could not possibly constitute a 'nice' conversation, Wright," Edgeworth retorted irritably.

"But we weren't talking about your childhood. We were talking about our relationship." At Miles' facial expression, Phoenix immediately regretted his wording. "Er, you know."

Miles looked all of a sudden dark – which Phoenix should not have thought was out of the ordinary. But this darkness seemed to come from a part of the mind Miles had not frequently expressed...

"Yes, I know."

Phoenix just stared at him, the other man almost stubbornly – yet silently – refusing to look up from his teacup. Phoenix didn't know much about – well, about anything, really – but he knew what he felt every time he thought about Miles, and he knew what he saw in the other's face at that moment, and he knew that living in the moment was the only thing one could do in this life. So Phoenix quickly put two and two together and spoke out of complete impulse.

"Miles?"

"Yes?"

"Did you ever miss me?"

Miles considered his words for a moment; by his countenance, Phoenix could tell he had already thought about the answer to that question in the past few minutes, and was now considering what of it to tell Phoenix. "During which time?"

"Any of them."

Miles nodded and then looked straight into Phoenix's eyes. "All of them." His gaze was piercing, and serious, and a complete confirmation of what Phoenix had been thinking. He just didn't know what move to make now.

"I missed you a lot," he decided upon.

Miles looked like he couldn't help himself but ask, "Why?"

And Phoenix couldn't help himself but be shocked. "Because," and, if that didn't say everything Phoenix meant, he spoke the rest of it when he leaned over the table and pulled Miles' lips to his own.

There was a moment where nothing moved. Even the Earth stopped turning for that moment. Phoenix wanted to kick himself for giving into his impulse, for his stupid wishful thinking, and was about to pull away when the moment ended and _everything_ started moving.

The two men got up from their places at the table in order to get closer, closer. Miles immediately took control, shoving Phoenix against the nearest wall, holding his head in place so he couldn't move away. Tongues were in foreign mouths, moving wildly against each other, and to Phoenix it seemed like the world had just turned a new dawn (even though it was only evening).

When Miles took his lips away to drag them down Phoenix's neck, it immediately raised the problem of the clothing barrier. For a second, the two of them wondered about the legitimacy of sharing a sudden kiss and then suddenly stripping each other down to do God-only-knows-what, but the second was lost in the heat of the bigger picture. The clothes were to be shed.

Phoenix marveled at the fact that even while simply relaxing in the privacy of his own apartment, Miles still wore his trademark cravat. Not only was it this fact that dumbfounded Phoenix, but the process of taking off the damn thing left him in further confusion. Trying to hide his struggles, Phoenix directed his attention instead to the trillions of layers of clothing Miles wore on a daily basis. There was the jacket, to start; then the vest; then some white fancy shirt under that; then, _finally_, Phoenix reached bare skin after pulling off the final layer: the long-sleeved white undershirt. Miles pulled off the cravat himself and made no allusion to Phoenix's struggling.

At that point in their tryst, Miles had managed to rid Phoenix of his clothing way before Phoenix finished with his. Phoenix couldn't figure out whether they were trying to go really fast, in some sort of teenage-esque horniness, or if they were actually going really slow, in an attempt to savor whatever it was they were doing. Time didn't seem to really exist then.

Regardless of the speed of the thing, they were both bare-chested. Phoenix was still up against a wall, Miles still pressed tightly against him, and the skin-on-skin contact was amazing.

Before one of them kissed the other again, Phoenix whispered ever-so-quietly, "Bedroom."

Miles blinked several times. Phoenix became dimly aware they were both panting. "Wright, are you sure you want this?" Miles breathed against him. "We were just talking five minutes ago." He sounded strange, Phoenix thought.

Phoenix smiled, looking right into Miles' eyes. "What else are we going to do in a thunderstorm?"

That seemed to be good enough for Miles, because he immediately took Phoenix's hand and pulled him towards what Phoenix assumed was the bedroom.

When they reached the bedroom, Miles shut the door unnecessarily, and Phoenix wasted no time observing the bedroom in favor of reversing their earlier positions. He shoved Miles against the newly closed door, kissing him almost frantically and wedging his knee between Miles' legs, nudging the newly formed bulge there.

Miles gasped against Phoenix's mouth and Phoenix responded by pushing his tongue once more against the other man's. As if they were back in the courtroom, there was a battle each of them were determined to win: a battle of tongues in a _different_ way. But this time, when it was clear Miles was going to be the victor, Phoenix couldn't exactly say that he minded. He could say, however, that he was also inclined to show _his_ abilities, and with this in mind, Phoenix withdrew his mouth from Miles' and latched onto Miles' shoulder, biting hard.

"A-Ah..." Miles groaned, holding onto the back of Phoenix's spiky head, letting Phoenix perfect the mark he was clearly trying to make eminent on Miles' porcelain skin.

Phoenix, after what seemed like endless minutes, finally pulled away and grinned cheekily at Miles. When Miles looked back at him, something seemed to change in his face. Suddenly, all Phoenix could recognize were two hands gripping his shoulders and shoving him backwards; the next thing he knew, he was lying face-up on Miles' rather comfortable bed, and the same set of hands that were previously gripping his shoulders were now pulling the button on his pants out of its hole and pulling the fly down.

Phoenix speechlessly watched Miles elegantly pull down his – Phoenix's – pants, not knowing exactly what to say until Miles' mouth was wrapped around Phoenix's cock. Gasping, Phoenix arched his back immediately and slid his fingers into Miles' black-silver locks.

"Miles, fuck,_ more_," Phoenix groaned.

Miles bobbed his head faster, Phoenix not taking the initiative to control his movements with his hands but simply leaving them in Miles' hair. Miles made some indecipherable humming noise, the vibrations from it traveling through Phoenix's cock into his spine and flushing his face.

Gathering up all his willpower, Phoenix pulled Miles off of him with the words, "I want you inside of me."

Miles looked at him a minute, and Phoenix tried his damnedest not to moan just looking at him. Phoenix's pre-come was connected from his cock to Miles' lips in a liquid string; Miles was panting and flushed pink from exertion. It was one of the most erotic sights Phoenix had ever laid eyes upon.

After a long moment of staring (mostly on Phoenix's part), Miles practically _crawled _from between Phoenix's legs in order to place his fingers at the other man's mouth. Phoenix took the offered digits without comment, sucking them thoroughly, wantonly. The nervous anticipation building up inside of him made him feel like a teenager again.

The two men could still hear the storm raging outside.

Miles seemed to have deemed his fingers coated enough, because Phoenix recognized one digit being pushed inside, Miles wiggling and curling it. Phoenix hissed but made no other noises of supreme discomfort, so Miles pushed in a second digit.

"Ah!" At Phoenix's verbal emission, Miles must have realized he hit the other man's prostate, and thus went on to push on it several more times before Phoenix made another verbal emission. "Miles, do it now!"

Taking a spot between Phoenix's legs, Miles lifted the other man's legs up and lined up his member with Phoenix's entrance. The defense attorney's eyes were closed tightly and his head was lifted, his neck completely exposed to Miles. Before he made his move, he seemed to not be able to help but make sure the other man was truly ready for this. "Are you sure about this, Phoenix?"

Phoenix looked back and nodded, as if this was the most grave decision he would ever have to make. Miles proceeded to slowly push until he was fully in his partner. He stilled – as hard as it was, Phoenix was sure – to let him adjust to the new feeling.

But Phoenix was absolutely _done_ waiting. "_Move_."

Miles started thrusting slowly at first and Phoenix kept still until Miles shifted just a little bit and _bam! _It was like Phoenix was seeing the entire night sky in front of his eyes – that's how many stars there were. He began to thrust backwards onto Miles, desperate for more of that same feeling. He grabbed his own member and started stroking it erratically, as if his mind wasn't even sure what to focus on anymore.

It was over much too soon, Phoenix thought. Miles was thrusting almost frantically – rather out of character for him, as he was usually so suave and put-together – and the continued assault on Phoenix's prostate along with his own hand stroking himself had him coming in very little time at all. Miles followed shortly after with something between a cry and a grunt, thrusting several times more, milking his orgasm, and then pulling out of Phoenix to lie beside him.

As if they were in a movie, the thunderstorm seemed to have stopped very soon after they both came. Somewhere in Phoenix's post-orgasm brain, which seemed rather out-of-order as a whole, he wondered if that meant he was going to have to go home now. Miles next to him was still panting and he wasn't sure if he wanted to ask and ruin the moment. This led to him wondering if they were going to have to talk about what they just did.

It seemed Miles thought so. "Wright." Phoenix dimly registered the use of his surname but didn't have a chance to reply before Miles went on, "do you have feelings for me?"

Phoenix grinned into the bedspread. "What gave you that idea?"

But Miles didn't share the amused look. He did seem to register the sarcasm, however. "How long?"

A pause. "Too long."

"So that wasn't simply..." Miles sounded rather bitter, "your complete boredom at being stuck at my home that made you want me to entertain you?"

Rather shocked, Phoenix glanced over at the other man, who, sure enough, harbored a bitter countenance. "Is that really what you think?"

Miles didn't respond.

"I..." _I hate words_, Phoenix thought, "I _do_ have feelings for you. As unfortunate as that is."

For the first time in a long time, Phoenix heard Miles laugh.

**A/N: This story was stuck in my "fanfics" folder, unfinished for months, and I was sick of looking at it, so I quick scribbled this lemon and decided to submit it (not caring that says it's removing fanfics with lemons. I haven't been affected by this yet, and until I am, I'mma be a rebel!). So if it seems rushed and whatnot...I'm sorry, but I did try making this a good story even for just trying to get it finished. I hope it was still good (and worth reviewing)!**


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